Surviving Malfoy _ Part II : Anger and Depression
SPILT '1984' – 1984 was not an instruction manual.
Chapter 7:
"I was terrified he'd come home at any second. I didn't know if Austin knew what was going on and I had no way of contacting him on my own. I'd been owling back and forth with Cordelia so far, but the post offices were one of the very first things they blocked when they killed the minister. They blocked the Floo Network, retracted all Portkeys, cancelled people's apparition passes out of the country… Austin was my only hope.
"As soon as Corban's mark burned, I knew; I just knew from the look on his face that this was what he'd been waiting for ever since he escaped Azkaban. He locked us in - me and the girls - and left. He didn't even bother taking his mask, he knew he didn't need to hide anymore. He took my wand with him. I think he's been suspecting me of wanting to leave for a while. I should've left when he was still in Azkaban, really. That would've been safest, but I couldn't do this to my mother; she'd miss the girls too much."
"Is she safe?"
"As safe as anyone can be, considering."
Mirabella Avery is a tall woman, with dark blonde hair pulled tightly into a low bun, and deep brown eyes. She is hard-faced, her jaw square and her eyes unwavering. I haven't seen her brows unfurrow once since she arrived five days ago. She's wearing muggle clothes in an attempt to blend in with us; a long black skirt and a sleeveless, pale pink blouse. She's good at hiding her discomfort, but every once in a while, a certain awkwardness peeks through, when she thinks no one can see.
"Have you heard anything from your friends in England?"
She doesn't know. Madam Fox has decided not to tell her, not about my brother and not about Debbie's mother, for fear she might change her mind and keep her children with her abusive husband. I take a sip of my pumpkin juice.
"They're all fine," I say. "A bit rattled maybe, but none of their families have been affected."
As soon as the ministry fell, the Death Eaters ransacked almost every home they could get into that was in any way linked to the Order or Harry. I've since spoken to Hermione; they are staying at Harry's Godfather's house, it's under the Fidelius Charm and the Death Eaters haven't managed to get in there. They only leave when absolutely necessary.
"This is a very pretty place," Arabella takes a deep breath and crosses her fingers over her stomach. We are sitting next to each other on the back porch, looking out onto the lawn, where Poppy and Violet are playing tag in the evening sun.
"They'll be safe here," I say and a short silence settles over us.
"I'm truly sorry to have pulled you away from your holidays," Arabella finally says. "We weren't supposed to come straight here."
I shrug. "It's okay. I wasn't having much of a holiday anyway."
There's another pause. "Would you be returning to Hogwarts if- All this wasn't happening?"
I hesitate for a moment. "Probably."
"Just like I wouldn't be here if all this wasn't happening," she mutters quietly.
I slowly put my glass down on the round patio table between us. "With a bit of luck, all this will be over soon, and we can all go back to what we would be doing if all this wasn't happening," I say.
"I didn't mean to-"
"I know," I interrupt her. "I understand. This is the best decision you could've made for your girls."
She doesn't look at me, just stares straight ahead at her giggling twins. They are slowly starting to come out of their shells. They arrived tired and in shock; children this young really aren't supposed to apparate and they found themselves in a strange home, surrounded by strange people. Poppy only started speaking again that morning and Violet cried every night so far. My mother has been working tirelessly with them, trying to make them feel as comfortable as they possibly can, but they only seem at ease when left alone with each other.
"How did you find out about Madam Fox?" I ask.
The tiniest glimmer of a smile flickers over Mirabella's face. "My friend, Narcissa, told me about her and Salem. I don't know how she found out about her, but she was in a similar situation to mine last year. Arguably worse, her husband was in Azkaban as well and - Let's just say she hasn't had the best year. Her son is about your age, there wasn't much she could do for him, but she told me I should get in touch with Cordelia to see if she would take in my girls. So, I did. When will the other girls be here?"
"On the 25th." I answer without thinking. A son my age with a father in Azkaban. I've been sporadically messaging Draco over the last few days, asking him how he's doing, having him ask me the same in return, but not once anything more than that. I haven't dared ask him if he's been forced to do anything more against his will since Harry's escape. I have a feeling he wouldn't answer me truthfully; not yet, not this quickly.
"Do you know if there will be any other girls in Poppy and Violet's year?"
I shake my head distractedly. "Ella is starting her second year, she doesn't have anybody else in her grade either. The next is Lizzie, she's going into her fourth year already. Louisiana doesn't have that many students."
"Why is that?"
I shrug. "Most wizarding families down here are Cajun or Creole and they tend to educate their children privately. A couple still come here; Zoe is Creole, she's two years younger than me. Will you excuse me? I'm going to check if my mom needs any help with dinner."
I pick up my glass without waiting for her response. Once inside I make a beeline for my room. I suddenly remembered my conversation with Cassius Warbeck and his family history, how Lucius Malfoy had paid him a visit years ago. His wife was mentioned in passing, she'd come with him. She must've found out then.
I can't think of any other boy my age, whose father was incarcerated during my year at Hogwarts. Mirabella must have been talking about Draco's mother. He never mentioned her name to me, I've never seen her mentioned by name in any articles so far either, but I have no doubt.
How is your mother?
I sit down at my desk, my legs moving restlessly. I hope he isn't going to take that question the wrong way. I never asked him about his mother once. Even at Hogwarts when he was telling me about his ordeal, I never bothered to ask how she was doing. She was a nameless entity, whose life was being dangled over Draco's head so he'd dance to Voldemort's tune.
It's the middle of the night in England. I don't expect him to answer, but he never seems to sleep. Every time I've messaged him first, he answers within seconds.
How's Mirabella? He ignores my question.
She's settling in. I humor him.
She told you about my mother?
Indirectly.
You're a clever one.
I huff. Thank you.
He stays quiet for the rest of the night, and I decide to leave him alone for now. I know he'll reach out eventually, and he does, to my surprise, with more than just small talk. I keep him updated on Mirabella, Poppy and Violet, especially on the twins' progress; how after another week Poppy will not stop talking or how Violet has banned Mirabella from sleeping in their room. They are at school now, they can't be seen sharing a room or, Tituba forbid, a bed with their mother.
Draco accepts these updates eagerly, saying they brighten his mother's day. Narcissa has been a frequent guest in Mirabella's household, seeing it as an escape from her own home. They were in the same year at Hogwarts, both in the same house, they even married in the same year. Mirabella took more time having children, but once she had, Narcissa took up a big role in the kids' lives, just as Mirabella had in Draco's childhood.
I take all this down in my notes. It's likely completely irrelevant to Austin, but he insists I take down any minor detail, so I do. And gradually, I'm able to extract more from Draco. Not only about his mother, but about his father too. Azkaban has changed him, he's become somewhat delirious. He's fallen from grace in Voldemort's eyes and sees Draco as his only chance to redeem himself. There are tales of alcohol induced fits of rage, of bruises and fights I am hesitant to write down. The more Draco reveals to me, the more I feel like I'm betraying his trust.
And so August passes, quietly but for my silent conversations with Draco. He messages me every evening like clockwork, the middle of the night for him. But that's the only time of day he feels safe enough to do so.
The rest of the girls arrive on the 25th and my day-to-day life starts feeling almost normal again. I'm back in my old school uniform and back to trying to force six-year-olds into theirs. Within a single day, the house practically explodes back to life. Martha and Debbie are the first to arrive at the crack of dawn, and the third matron, June, soon follows. Little by little, the girls start trailing in, the younger ones straight to my mother for a hug and the older ones straight upstairs to their rooms.
I stick to Debbie from the moment she arrives. Her official title this year is matron. It's bizarre seeing her in the navy-blue cloak I'm used to seeing on my mother, Martha or June. But once she takes it off, she doesn't look much different from me. The only thing differentiating teachers from matrons and students are the cloaks: black for teachers, blue for matrons, white for students. Why white had been chosen for students, when these included six-year-olds, I don't know, but my mother complains about it at least three times a day.
Our first week back is nothing more than another week of holiday. They call it an introduction week, put in place so the girls can get to know each other. It's something they need less and less the older they get, so I spend my time sitting on the balcony outside my room with Debbie, eating up the various sorts of fresh ice cream Martha so loves to make.
She's worried about Blaise. She heard very little from him over the summer and we can only speculate what Hogwarts would be like now, without Dumbledore and under the control of Voldemort. I'm more worried for the people who weren't in Slytherin and are directly connected to Harry and I tell her as much.
We keep up our little ritual with the Quibbler and the Daily Prophet. The Quibbler has become more vocal than ever in standing up against Voldemort and it makes us both worry more than ever for its editor. The Daily Prophet, on the other hand, has drastically changed its tune. Each week, we receive a new leaflet about the Undesirable N°1, about the dangers of muggles and the importance of preserving pure blood lines. They have started rounding up muggleborns, calling them up to register with the Ministry. It all sounds harmless enough, they are only asking them to put down their names and addresses, just a formality. It became a legal requirement the morning after the last minister's death. Voldemort hasn't come out publicly, a new minister has been put in place instead; but it's undeniable to anyone with a little common sense that none of this is as innocuous as it's being made out to be.
The most shocking news come on September 1st, our first day of classes as well as the day Hogwarts students are due to return to school. The Prophet arrives just as Debbie and I are setting up for breakfast. The post office's eagle owl swoops in through the window and drops the newspaper on the butcher's block, almost knocking over the jugs of milk standing on it. I recognize Snape's crooked nose from across the room.
"They made him headmaster," Debbie says in disgust, holding the newspaper up to me so I can see. I snatch it from her as she pays the owl, opening the window wider for it to hop out onto the windowsill.
SEVERUS SNAPE CONFIRMED AS HOGWARTS HEADMASTER
I blink at the Prophet's front page in disbelief. The words are there, next to a picture of Snape self-righteously smirking up at me; the man they've been all up in arms about hunting down as the murderer of Albus Dumbledore a month ago.
"How can they just pretend like this is normal?" I say incredulously.
"What's happened?" My mother comes into the room.
"They made Snape headmaster," I say, handing her the paper.
She frowns down at it, quickly skimming the page. "It gets worse," she says. "They replaced two teachers with Death Eaters."
"Which ones?" Debbie asks.
"Defense against the Dark Arts is free," I say mockingly.
"That and Muggle Studies," my mother responds. "Listen to this: 'I welcome the opportunity to uphold our finest wizarding traditions and values,' Severus Snape said in our exclusive interview this morning 'There has been a lack in ethics at Hogwarts school over the past few years and it is high time we reevaluate our educational system and adjust it to the current times.' This is idiotic. Can I borrow this for a second, love?"
"Of course," Debbie nods. "What was the Muggle Studies teacher's name again?" She adds once my mother has left the room.
I rub my temple, suppressing a groan. "Burley, Burbank maybe. I'm not sure, I never took it."
Debbie's silent for a moment. "Didn't a Hogwarts teacher vanish a few months ago?"
I look up at her, wide-eyed. "Yes," I say. "They never mentioned which subject she taught though."
Debbie raises her eyebrows. "Well, now we know."
I feel my face darken, but I don't respond, waving my wand instead and making a plate of croissants fly into the dining room. No one mentions Snape again for the rest of the day and I only brood over it through breakfast. In my previous years here, I've always shared classes with either Debbie or Victoria, who's a year younger than me. This year, somehow, Madam Fox has managed to clear my schedule, so I have nothing but one-on-one classes, adding Arithmancy and Alchemy to my subjects, as well as extra hours in Defense against the Dark Arts. She needn't explain why; I'm grateful regardless.
A double period of potions, followed by double Arithmancy and an afternoon of Defense quickly takes my mind off England. Harry, Hermione and Ron are still safe; Hermione told me they are laying low for the time being, so I don't waste a single thought on them until the next morning, when the Quibbler manages to top the Daily Prophet.
"Hey!" Aithne's shout wakes me out of my half-daze.
"Get over it." I hear Debbie shoot back at her and the next second I feel something smooth and cold hit the side of my head. The Quibbler is a bi-weekly magazine, scheduled to come out every second Friday. Not once so far has this pattern been broken, which prompts my confusion when I pick it off my bed. "Page two."
I flip it open and am greeted by a large picture of Harry and the headline:
BREAK IN AT THE MINISTRY Harry Potter Poster Child of Our Resistance
I glance up at Debbie. She's perched herself on the side of my bed, arms crossed over her chest. Aithne locks herself in the bathroom. I get out of bed and pull open the curtains, letting in the morning sun.
Early this morning, The Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter, was spotted at the Ministry of Magic in the company of Hermione Granger and a third, unnamed Hogwarts classmate. The Chosen One and Miss Granger are both on the ministry's wanted list, with Mr. Potter being branded as Undesirable N°1.
A ministry employee revealed this morning that the three escaped safely along with several muggle-borns awaiting trial. We would like to praise Mr. Potter for his bravery and encourage our readers to do the same. Protect your fellow witches and wizards. If you have muggle-born neighbours, hide them. If you have muggle neighbours, protect them.
"What the hell," I mutter.
"Did you know about this?" Debbie asks.
"No," I say. "Hermione said they were trying to keep a low-profile. That's not exactly a low-profile." I hold up the magazine.
"Do you really think they were there to save muggleborns?"
I shake my head. "I mean, it's great they did, but they have bigger fish to fry…" I drop The Quibbler on my desk and take out Hermione's coin.
You infiltrated the ministry?!
"I just hope they actually did escape."
Debbie pauses for a moment. "I wonder if The Prophet is going to report on this."
"They might mention Harry was seen, but I doubt they'll say anything about the muggle-borns," I say. "I don't think they want to direct any attention towards a possible resistance."
And I'm proven right. Harry is granted a small article in that morning's edition of the Daily Prophet. Nothing is said about why he was at the ministry, nor about the muggleborns. The Prophet kept mum. Hermione only responds much later in the day, past lunchtime and I only notice once I make it back to my room after class.
How do you know?
It's in the papers.
I get Debbie to join me and we sit down opposite each other, cross-legged on the balcony floor, silently waiting for Hermione to respond.
What did they say? Hermione quickly replies.
Not much. I send back, waiting a moment to allow her to read. You helped muggleborns escape?
The Prophet said that? Her response comes within seconds, the coin glowing hot red in my hand.
The Quibbler.
Lovegood needs to be careful.
"Probably the Quibbler's editor." Debbie anticipates my question.
Did you? I ask.
We did.
I sigh. I want to speak to her, in person and not over a small coin. I need to see her face, or at least hear her voice.
Are you okay?
Ron's injured.
Debbie and I exchange a quick look.
Badly?
Splinched on the way out.
Debbie flinches.
"What are you two doing?"
I flip my head around. Aithne's leaning against the door frame, looking down at us with mild curiosity.
"Nothing interesting," I say.
"What's that?" She points at the coin.
"None of your business."
She raises an eyebrow at me and Debbie sighs. "Don't you have homework to do?" She says, but Aithne doesn't react. "I can ground you now, you know that right? If you don't leave us alone, I'll give you lines to do until Christmas."
Aithne huffs, but turns around, shutting the balcony door behind her.
"Still surprised Fox gave you that authority."
"What are you insinuating?"
I grin. "Nothing." I wave my wand over the coin again.
Will he be okay?
It'll take a while.
"He's with Hermione," Debbie says, noticing the look on my face. "He's in good hands, I'm sure he'll be fine."
Are you safe?
We lost the house.
"Shit," I mutter.
How?
Hermione doesn't respond for a solid five minutes, during which my stomach slowly knots itself up, until I can take it no more and change my message.
Where are you now?
We borrowed a tent.
Debbie sucks in her breath.
What's your plan?
Still looking for Horcruxes.
Did you find one at the ministry?
Yes.
"I wonder what it is…" Debbie says.
"It doesn't really matter," I say. "They found one, that's the important thing."
"How many more do they have left? Like three?" She asks.
I nod.
Can you destroy it? I send Hermione.
We're trying.
I sigh again. "Not much use finding them if they can't destroy them though."
"They'll find a way. You said Harry destroyed one before," Debbie says.
"With basilisk venom," I say. "Doesn't exactly grow on trees…"
"I'll ask dad, he might have a book or two lying around," she says after a short pause. "Dinner should be ready any minute though, come on." She gets up and taps my shoulder on her way back inside.
Be safe. I quickly send Hermione, before I follow Debbie.